


Alex and Apollo

by hopelesswanderer17



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, kids to adults
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:05:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelesswanderer17/pseuds/hopelesswanderer17
Summary: The story of Alex Danvers and her best friend Apollo Riley.Or,A story following Alex through a life-long, friends to lovers journey with her best friend, I made up.





	1. 2019

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie. I'm not really sure where this fic is going. I do know that I enjoy writing it though, so I hope you enjoy reading it.   
> I don't own Supergirl or any of its characters, just my grammar mistakes. :)

2019

Apollo

            I run. Icy air whips my clothing and stings my skin, and I run as fast as my feet will let me. My hair streams behind me, and my lungs ache. I can’t breathe, but I can’t stop. I push myself until I burn, until all I am is running. Running for my life.

            Running for hers.

            “Alex!” Her name leaves my lips in a scream that tears through my ribs and burns through my chest.

            She turns with a whip of her head. Her eyes widen, and I watch as they meet mine, as they fill with the realization of what I already know.

            I am too far away; the feet between us may as well be miles, _lightyears_ , of space I’ll never cross.

            “Alex!” This time my voice is a sob that breaks past my lashes, and I am meeting her eyes through tears that blaze paths down my cheeks.

            She shakes her head, and I catalog her, short auburn hair, perfect angular face, wide, big eyes, sad, soft smile.

            “I love you.” She mouths.

            I can’t hear them, but they rattle through me. Years of those words, thousands of different ways, thousands of different times. I can hear her say I love you in my ear louder than I can hear my own pounding heartbeat.

            It is then that I know.

            I know that she’s going to close the doors before I can get to her. I know that she is going to give herself for me before I even have a chance to save her.

            “No!”

            This scream is the loudest, most broken, most desperate, and it reverberates through the room with enough force to send me stumbling. I crash into the ground, bone slamming into Relixian steel. I can hear the pops of my joints and the scrape of my skin, but I can’t feel it as I climb, _clamber_ , to my feet. My shoes fight for resistance, and I struggle forward, hand outstretched, eyes begging Alex to wait, to hold on. To stop.

            She shakes her head one last time and closes the doors with a single slam of her fist.

            I slam into them just as they’re sliding shut.

            I scream as I pound into the steel. I can feel my nails catching and my skin scraping, and I can see the streaks of blood I leave behind. But I’m livid, sensate, and all I can see is Alex closing the door.

            Iron muscles wrap around my waist, and I feel Kara yelling, her chest heaving as she lifts me, her own sobs mixing with mine.

            “Stop!” She yells, pressing her mouth to my ear, steel arms holding my thrashing body still, “stop fighting. You’re not helping her.”

            And with that, I break in Kara’s arms, slacking, falling, crashing.

            I’m not helping her.

            I never helped her.

            And now she’s going to die, and there’s nothing I can do to save her.

            The love of my life is going to die, and I can’t save her.


	2. 1989-1991

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the only things I own are grammar issues, not any Supergirl characters.

1989

Eliza

            The woman in front of me walks slowly, laboriously. Her back arches, and with a deep breath and a press of her hand to her back, she begins to unload her groceries onto the conveyor belt.

            I hit my husband in the stomach. He stops fidgeting with our stuff long enough to raise both eyebrows at me.

            “Help her,” I say, quickly, “She’s almost as pregnant as me.”

            He jumps into action almost before he looks up at her, and with a charming smile and a quick ‘do you need help?’, he’s unloading her cart for her.

            The woman turns then, fixing both of us with a smile and letting loose a relieved breath.

            She’s close to my age, and she’s got golden blonde hair done up in a messy knot, and I instantly like this woman.

            “Thank you,” she says, “When you’re this pregnant even toilet paper is heavy.”

            She chuckles at her joke, and her big green eyes crinkle with the movement. I chuckle with her and pat my bulging stomach, “Don’t I know it?”

            The woman’s eyes widen, and for the first time, her eyes land on my stomach.

            “Oh, God, you’re ready to pop too,” she says, the lilting chuckle still in her voice.

            I nod, “Yep, that’s why I bring my husband along. Mama isn’t carrying no groceries.”

            The woman laughs, but as she nods, a sudden, solemn smile crosses her lips.

            “Unfortunately, my husband is overseas, right now.” The woman says, then elaborating, “He’s a Marine.”

            I reach for the woman’s hand immediately, and she lets our hands wrap together in a soft moment of solidarity.

            “I’m sorry,” I say.

            She only smiles in return, and with that, I know she’s going to be my best friend.

           

            “Jeremiah!” I yell, “We have to go! Evelyn is going into labor!”

            Jeremiah comes bounding down the stairs just a few seconds later, a very tiny, very disgruntled Alex is in his arms. My one-month-old whines unhappily as her father takes the steps two at a time.

            He takes a second to readjust her, and she grunts with what can only be disdain but stays quiet as Jeremiah motions towards the door.

            “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

            I follow his excited form, and as soon as Alex is in her car seat, crying now, we begin driving to the hospital.

 

            I hold Alex in one arm as we stand outside of the nursery window. She’s awake and babbling happily, her tiny hand gripping lightly onto my thumb, her little eyes fluttering between open and closed.

            Apollo Riley is the only little girl in the small room, and the newborn sleeps peacefully under the pale lights. Her little pink cap covers up wispy golden strands that will be just as thick and golden as her mothers with she grows up.

            Evelyn clutches the bicep not cradling Alex. She’s sitting in a wheelchair, and she’s gazing so adoringly at her baby that I almost can’t bear to break the silence.

            “We hoped Aunt Evie was going to have a little boy, so the two of you could fall in love,” I coo, lightly stroking my daughter’s forehead, “But this is better.”

            Evelyn’s hand tightens on my bicep, squeezing appreciatively, even though, she can’t look away from her daughter.

            “Alexander Elizabeth Danvers meet your best-friend, Apollo Jane Riley.”

1990

Jeremiah

            The house is a mess of pink streamers and mylar balloons, and even before the house is filled with toddlers, my headaches. Eliza is at the island, putting the finishing touches on the two, small cakes decorated for Alex and Apollo, a black cake with a moon and blue cake with the sun, and Ezra and Evelyn are bickering lightly over the birthday sign.

            I watch them for a minute before I go back to thinking about putting shots in my coffee. I can barely handle the toddler that lives with me and the one that practically lives here. I already know that the twelve other toddlers are going to be the death of me.

            Especially since my toddlers aren’t really toddlers.

            My toddlers are just small adults.

            “Jer,” Eliza says, “Will you go get the girls up from their nap, please? Guests should be here any minute.”

            I put the coffee down and fight the urge to sigh. I’ve missed my chance for alcohol.

            “Of course, dear,” I say. She doesn’t even look at me as I bound up the steps towards Alex’s room. There’s soft babbling coming from her room, and I slow to peek through the door at my daughter and her best friend.

            Alex has been speaking short, simple words for about a month now, and Apollo who is just a little younger still has some catching up to do. But, the two don’t seem to care about the language deficit because they are aggressively babbling at each other, both still laying on their backs, staring at each other. Apollo has ditched her pacifier in favor of babbling at Alex, but Alex is still holding onto hers, the pink plastic hanging out of one side of her mouth.

            “Small adults.” I say, finally, stepping into the room, “You guys are definitely better than the rest of those lame kids coming today.”

            Alex and Apollo jolt up at my voice, and I can’t help but chuckle at Alex’s wide, dark eyes. Apollo only looks concerned for about half a second before she flops back down, talking at Alex again.

            Alex though starts to stand up, unsteady baby feet making her wobble as she reaches out for me, “Dada!”

            I cross the nursey quickly and lift Alex onto my right hip, kissing her forehead as I reach into the crib and pull Apollo out too. Apollo takes her place on my left hip and when I kiss her on the forehead she laughs as always.

            “Ticklish, baby,” I say, rubbing my face against Apollo’s again until she squeals. Alex laughs with her, and my baby’s dark eyes are practically glowing as she laughs with Apollo.

            “Alright, sun and moon, who’s excited for their joint one-year-old birthday party!” I cheer, and the girls babble excitedly. I place them both on the changing table, and they sit dutifully, legs swinging in unison as they wait for me.

            I dress Apollo first since she’s the squirmy one, and when she’s dressed in her bright green overalls and bright purple shirt, I set her back in the crib. I dress Alex in the inverse, bright purple overalls, and bright green shirt, and when Alex is clothed, I start on her hair. Alex hates this part and she whines as I guide her short auburn hair into small pigtails. The pigtails are only about an inch long and stick out from her head, but she’s so damn cute, that I can’t help but put them in.

            She grunts at me when I’m done, but she lets me put her back in the crib and lift Apollo out.

            Apollo’s hair is longer and thicker, golden like her mother’s, and when it’s in matching pigtails, she reminds me of a little Barbie doll. All bright blonde hair and big, light brown eyes. She chuckles and tilts her head, so her pigtails move, and even without looking at Alex, I can see her eyes glinting with the desire to pull them.

            I chuckle at both my small adults and, as a last-minute decision, stand them both up in the crib to take a quick picture on the polaroid hanging around my neck.

            Apollo wobbles into Alex, and when I snap the picture they’re hugging, looking at each other with more emotion than a one-year-old should really have.

            When the picture prints, I tack it right above Alex’s crib. I stare at it for a second, at my daughter so blissfully happy, hugging her best friend, and only when I have the moment memorized, tucked deep beside my heart, do I lift my small adults out of the crib and bound down towards their party.

1991

Jeremiah

            “I want Ap’lo!”

            Alex’s scream tears my heart to pieces. Eliza grips my hand harder. I let my head loll to my wife, my cheek against the wall. She meets my eyes, and even with the serious look on her face and the sorrow in my heart, I can’t help but laugh.

            “What are you laughing at?” Eliza asks, “Alex has been screaming nonstop for the last hour and a half.”

            I can tell that Eliza is getting progressively more upset, and my laughter dies immediately.

            “I know, baby,” I say, “But, we are sitting on the floor outside of our two-year old’s’ nursey, listening to her scream for her best friend that literally just lives across the street.”

            Eliza sighs, and she leans her head back against the wall, her hands scrubbing over her face. It takes her a second, but soon she starts laughing too.

            “God,” Eliza says, “And Apollo was literally just here. Alex is obsessed.”

            I laugh with her, and soon we’re practically rolling on the floor laughing.

            I’m not exactly sure why it’s funny anymore though, especially as Alex continues to scream, but there’s something therapeutic to this moment. Every time Apollo leaves, Alex screams and cries, and every time, it’s like a knife in my gut.

            But dear God, am I tired of hearing the word Apollo coming out of my daughter’s mouth.

            “Alex doesn’t even cry for us when we leave,” Eliza gasps through laughs.

            We’re still laughing when our red-faced, half sobbing, two-year-old is standing in front of us, clutching a worn little bear, sucking on her thumb, and kicking a footy pajama covered foot.

            We’re both stunned into silence.

            “Alex,” I say, after a moment, “Did you just climb out of your crib?”

            “Yeah,” She mumbles, thumb still in her mouth, “Want Ap’lo.”

            “Alex,” Eliza says, then, her stern, mom voice coming out, “What have we told you about climbing out of your crib?”

            I didn’t know that toddlers could glare until I met Alex Danvers, and Alex doesn’t disappoint with the glare she levels at her mom, “Want Ap’lo.”

            Eliza sighs, and I can see the fight coming on. I reach out to Alex before Eliza can speak and pull my defiant kid into my arms.

            “Apollo isn’t coming back tonight, Alex,” I say, “She had to go home to be with her mommy and daddy.”

            Alex only screams again, her heavy sobs starting again.

            “Alexandra,” I say, “If you want to see Apollo at all in the next week, you will stop crying right now and let us put you to bed.”

            Alex’s scream ends mid-breath, and she stills completely, a serious, dark look in her wide eyes.

            I never thought about threatening a toddler, but when I look at Eliza, I can tell we just found our new tactic.

            “We should call E-V-I-E and E-Z-R-A and tell them about this development.” Eliza says, nodding to my now, very, quiet daughter, “It might get A-P-O-L-L-O to stop crying too.”

            I nod, “You do that, and I’ll put this one back to bed.”

            Finally, I stand up, my daughter on my hip.

            Her nursey is dark save for the yellow starts projecting onto her ceiling, but when I place Alex is her crib I can tell that she’s disgruntled.

            “Do you want me to read a story, Alex?” I ask.

            Alex only levels me with a glare and plops down on her mattress, cuddling her teddy bear closer, “No.”

            “You don’t want a story?” I ask.

            “No,” she says again, fiercely for a two-year-old, “Want Ap’lo.”

            I only sigh at my defiant little daughter.

            “This is a fight we’re going to be having for a long time, isn’t it, kid?”

            She only huffs at me, sniffling with the tiny tear tracks still coursing down her face. I sigh at my little girl.

            “Alex,” I say, quiet and soft so she’ll look up at me, “Why do you want Apollo so bad, baby girl?”

            Alex sniffles for a minute more before she sits up. Her dark eyes meet mine, and the pout on her lips is heartbreaking as she stutters through her sentence.

            “B’cus I- I-I- love her,” Alex says.

            I reach out for my kid, and Alex falls into my arms immediately. I lift her from her crib and cradle her to my chest. She only sniffles again, still crying lightly into my shirt. 

            “I know you love her Alex, but you know you’ll see her again soon. You don’t have to cry for her every time she leaves.” I say.

            “But, I want Ap’lo,” she says, “I don’ want her to- to- to leave. I want see her all t’ time.”

            I sigh lightly and rock my daughter back and forth. She’s considerably calmer now, but I rock her until she stops crying and her breathing gets a little easier.  She may be upset, but she’s also very tired.

            When I’m content that Alex isn’t going to be screaming anymore, I lay my baby back in her crib. I drape the blanket over her and reach over to her little dresser, pulling out a worn pacifier.

            “Here,” I say, “You can have this since you’re having a rough night, tonight.”

            She takes it, and when she’s sucking on it and cuddled under her blanket, she looks just a little less heartbroken.

            I’m about to leave when I see the picture still tacked above her bed. I sigh and untack it and give it to Alex. She grabs it with slow, sleepy hands, and when she looks at it, her brows furrow.

            “It’s a picture of you and Apollo on your birthday last year,” I say, “If you hold that, it’s like she’s here still.”

            Alex, for the first time since Apollo left, smiles.          


End file.
